


Happy accident

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Series: Happy accident [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Almost Kiss, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Embarrassment, Engagement, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Kissing, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 21:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili's best friend accidentally performs an important ritual of courtship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Happy accident

“What would you eat right now, if you could eat anything?”

The question drew your gaze upward from your mud-caked boots to where Kili had materialized in front of you, walking backward to face you, looking as tired and bedraggled as you surely did, but with a smile sunny enough to make up for the gray clouds and spitting rain.

You chuckled. It was a conversation the two of you had nearly every day of the quest, to distract yourselves from weary legs, inclement weather, or the toughness of the stewed rabbit that had become a staple food for the company.

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment, gauging your mood. “Do you remember the cinnamon buns at the bakery next to the wheelwright’s shop?”

“Ohhh,” Kili groaned in agreement, “I’d give anything for one of those right now.”

You and Kili had shared many of those cinnamon buns, squirreled away in your packs on your forays into the woods of Ered Luin…the woods where you had met for the first time one autumn morning when you’d encountered each other – well, nearly shot each other, more like – using the stumps of felled trees for target practice. An unlikely friendship had sprung up from your mutual love of archery, despite your family’s misgivings about your spending so much time with “that dwarf,” and when he had broken the exciting news that he was to go on a quest with his uncle to their faraway ancestral home, complete with the possibility of encountering a dragon, you’d immediately offered your services. 

Though you had Kili’s enthusiastic support to join the company of dwarves, his cantankerous uncle, Thorin, was not so easy to convince. You and Kili had wheedled and begged and pleaded your usefulness until the mere sight of you induced deep sighs and muttered appeals to Mahal from the company’s leader, and Thorin found himself scarcely able to stir a step outside his door without happening to stumble upon you at practice, determined to give him a show of your skill. In the end, your persistence had overcome his doubts about the wisdom of having a woman, and a human woman at that, on the journey, and so it was that you were to be found trudging through the soggy countryside and reminiscing about your favorite foods.

“Well, look on the bright side,” you teased Kili, “maybe tonight we can shoot a stringy, old turkey instead of a stringy, old rabbit.”

* * *

Supper had come and gone, and you rummaged through your pack for your hairbrush, bringing it with you to join the rest of the company as they lounged by the campfire. You took a seat on a large, flat rock close to the fire’s warmth, carefully unraveled your braid and began to brush your hair, reckoning that if you’d broken your mother’s heart by running off into the wilderness with a band of dwarves, you could at least obey her oft-repeated admonition that a lady should brush her hair fifty times before going to bed.

After giving fifty diligent strokes of the brush and adding a few more as penance, your gaze fell upon Kili where he sat on the grass, leaning back against the rock that served you as a seat. His hair was disheveled from the day’s travels, and you absentmindedly picked a bit of leaf litter from his dark locks, showing it to him when he turned to look at you. 

“Thanks,” he chuckled, ruffling his fingers through his hair to dislodge any more debris.

Listening eagerly to a quiet conversation between Thorin and Balin about the glory days of the line of Durin, you silently scooted yourself to sit behind Kili, crossing your legs beneath you, and idly ran your brush once, twice through the loose strands of his hair. Balin was reminiscing about a great feast in the days of King Thror as you carefully eased out the engraved silver clip that held Kili’s hair back from his face and began to brush in earnest, gently working out tangles. With your ears still tuned to Thorin’s description of the forges of Erebor, their great furnaces belching heat and flames around the fearless dwarven smiths, you gathered soft handfuls between your fingers, experimentally weaving a braid to keep his hair away from his face.

From your vantage point, and occupied with the storytelling as you were, you did not feel Kili tense beneath your busy hands, did not see the crimson that darkened his cheeks even in the dim firelight. It was only as you secured the end of the braid with his clip, cocking your head to examine the effect, that you realized that Thorin had stopped talking…and it was only when you looked up from your task that you realized that all eyes around the circle were on you.

Thorin looked positively alarmed, while mild amusement played about Dwalin’s face. Dori was smiling indulgently, Fili seemed concerned, and Ori’s cheeks resembled ripe tomatoes. Only Bilbo looked as confused as you felt, and the awkward silence was suddenly broken by Bofur breezing back into camp after leaving “to water a tree,” as he’d cheerfully explained it, and stopping short, a rakish grin creeping across his face as he wagged a finger at Kili.

“Oh! Nice new braid you’ve got there, you sly devil,” he winked. “About time, too, if you ask me.”

“Bofur, don’t,” Kili mumbled, “it’s not like that.”

“Oh, don’t be shy, lad, we’ve all seen you making eyes at her,” Bofur went on gleefully.

“Bofur!” Fili put in sternly, clearly coming to his brother’s defense, though from what, you weren’t entirely sure.

Kili jumped abruptly to his feet. “I’ll…go get some more firewood,” he said quickly, and disappeared from the circle of firelight among the trees.

Bofur looked chastened, and you glanced helplessly around the group. “What happened? Have I done something wrong?”

Balin was quick to encourage you. “No, lassie, you haven’t. You couldn’t have known.”

“Known?” you frowned, your heart sinking. “What couldn’t I have known?”

“Brushing and braiding of hair is a very…intimate thing, among dwarves,” Balin explained. “It’s only to be done between courting and married couples. So, you can imagine…” he trailed off tactfully.

Your own cheeks flamed at the realization of your blunder. “Oh, no,” you despaired. “Oh, no.” 

“He’ll be all right,” Fili assured, shooting a pointed look at Bofur. “We’ll all just let it pass.”

“I have to talk to him,” you insisted, getting to your feet, and before they could protest, you marched into the dusky woods in the direction that Kili had gone.

The trees closed around you and you ignored the cautioning voices behind, your steps growing more sure as your eyes adjusted to the low light. Finally, you happened on a tiny clearing, just enough of an opening in the leafy canopy to admit a shaft of twilight, and found Kili sitting on a tree stump. The sight of his hair unbraided and haphazardly caught back in the clip sent a stab of guilt through you, and you felt suddenly shy as you approached him.

“Balin told me…about hair, and braiding, and such,” you said quietly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders as he gave you a rueful smile. “You didn’t know.”

“Kili, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I was only doing what I would do with my friends, at home…I would never have done it if I’d known what it meant.” He dropped his eyes from yours, looking oddly crestfallen, and you hurried to amend yourself. “Oh, no, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just–”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing…it’s fine,” he insisted briskly, getting to his feet, and in your eagerness to apologize and his stoic reassurance, your words suddenly tumbled over each other’s in the still air.

“I mean, I know you would never think of me that way.”   
“…why would you want to court a dwarf?”

Then, simultaneously, your brow furrowed in confusion and his eyes wide: “what?”

“Well, surely you would wish to marry among your own kind,” Kili ventured, looking down to kick at a tuft of grass in the dirt. “Someone…taller than you, I’d imagine, someone your parents would be proud of.”

“I don’t care a fig for how tall a man is,” you frowned. “But…I’m just your friend, just someone you like to go shooting with…aren’t I?”

His face softened with a sweet smile. “You’re one of my _best_ friends,” he said.

As always, you found his smile infectious. “And you’re one of mine. And I suppose,” you added, suddenly feeling very shy indeed, “it’s not such a big step from being best friends to…”

“…Loving someone?” he grinned, and you chuckled.

Kili took a step closer to you, his posture relaxing, his usual cheer returning to his manner. “If a human man wanted to court a woman,” he asked, “how would he go about it?”

“Well,” you considered, “I don’t suppose there’s really any ritual to it. He might ask her to dance at a party, or hold her hand while they’re walking…once I started courting the magistrate’s son after we kissed at a harvest festival.”

He raised his eyebrows teasingly at your confession. “Kissing, just like that? You humans are a forward lot, aren’t you?”

“Well, we humans don’t live for 300 years, we have to hurry things along a bit,” you smirked, and he laughed, reaching tentatively to twirl a lock of your hair around his sturdy finger.

“Tell me something,” Kili said softly, his face growing as serious as you’d ever seen it, though there was a warm spark in his eyes. “Have you ever thought about kissing me?”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you reached out to fidget with the leather trim of his coat. “Oh, all right, I have, if you must know,” you grinned.

“And if I should wish to kiss you,” he wondered, delight plain on his face as he stepped closer yet, his hand straying to rest on your jawline as his thumb lightly traced the apple of your cheek, “would you give me permission?”

Your heart seemed loud in your chest, and it was strange and wondrous and suddenly so right that Kili should be the one to make its beat quicken, and in answer to his question, you leaned in, slowly, your gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips and back again as you felt the warmth of his breath and the closeness of his skin, letting your eyes fall closed, tingling with the anticipation of the first touch of his lips…

“Well, there you two are, Thorin’s near beside himself and –”

Bofur had come crashing through the underbrush so abruptly that you and Kili flinched apart in an instant, turning to face the befuddled dwarf where he stood motionless, looking back and forth between the two of you in utter confusion.

“Thank you, Bofur,” Kili muttered, turning to you with a sheepish smile. “It seems we may have to start with holding hands, after all.” He offered you his hand, and with a grin, you placed yours in it, reaching with your free hand to clasp his upper arm, drawing him close beside you, and together you walked back in the direction of the camp, Kili giving Bofur a clap on the shoulder as he went.

Bofur was left alone, looking from your disappearing backs to the clearing where he stood and back again, shaking his head. Finally, he called, puzzled, toward the fading sound of your footsteps.

“I thought it wasn’t like that!”


	2. Baby, it's cold outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili takes the next step with his love.

The Great Hall of Erebor was ablaze with the light of torches and the scent of fresh evergreen boughs filled the air. Tables were laden with everything good to eat, and a smile tugged at your lips as you sipped your wine and watched the whirl of dancers circling the floor in pairs, tapping your own toes to the musicians’ lively tune.

Warm breath suddenly ghosted over your neck, and Kili’s lips brushed your ear as he draped your fur-lined cloak over your shoulders and murmured, “come with me.” He took your hand in his, giving you a wink and a smile, and led you from the noisy hall.

He paused in the vast, empty entrance hall to pull you close for a kiss, sharing your mischievous giggle before guiding you out of the Front Gate and into the frosty night. The valley was blanketed in fresh snow that sparkled in the light of a full moon, the windows of the city of Dale twinkled yellow across the river, and the stark, quiet beauty of the scene was a peaceful contrast to the boisterous merriment within the mountain. The two of you stood hand in hand, gazing up at an inky black sky scattered with stars, your breath curling upward in fragile wisps.

Kili turned to face you, his arm sliding around your waist to draw you near, his hand clasping yours to his chest. “Dance with me?”

You chuckled. “But there’s no music.”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Dance with me anyway.”

Smiling, you rested your free hand behind his shoulder and your cheek against his and let him lead you in a dance…not the complicated, festive dancing of the revels you’d left behind, but a slow, simple, rhythmic swaying in the wintry silence that made you feel as though you and Kili were the only two people in the world.

“How do you like your first Yule fest?” he asked.

“It’s even grander than I’d imagined it…will there be _that_ much food again tomorrow night?“

His chest vibrated with a chuckle beneath your hand, and you felt his cheek plump with a grin. “Surely you’ve lived among dwarves long enough to know that we never miss a chance for a feast.”

“I’ve noticed,” you answered teasingly.

“It’s a good deal more cheerful than last year, that’s certain,” he observed, and though you smiled in agreement, a shiver ran through you that had nothing to do with the cold, remembering the long, fearful days after the battle when you’d kept vigil at Kili’s bedside, praying that his life would be spared from his grievous wound, and he held you a little more tightly.

He slowed to a stop and grazed your lips with a kiss. “I have something for you.”

“You do?”

A curious smile crept over your face as he reached into his coat’s inner pocket and brought out a little leather pouch. Cupping your hand with his, he tipped the pouch, and something small and cold fell into your palm. The moonlight revealed a silver bead, glittering with a trimming of tiny gems and engraved with dwarvish symbols thrown into relief by the pale glow.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” you breathed, “did you make it yourself?”

“I did,“ he nodded, a proud grin playing about his lips.

You picked up the bead with your thumb and forefinger to examine it more closely, turning it this way and that. “What do the runes say?”

There was a short pause, in which he seemed to hesitate to answer, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, tender.

“Princess of Durin.”

The question in your eyes was unmistakable, and he nervously licked his lips before going on. “It’s your betrothal bead, if you’ll have it…if you’ll have me,” he explained, his hesitant expression resolving itself into the sweetest of smiles. “Will you marry me?”

“You mean it?” you nearly whispered, mirroring his smile.

“Of course,” he chuckled. “Whom should I wish to marry, if not my best friend?”

“Oh, Kili, yes,” you beamed, throwing your arms around his neck, the beautiful bead carefully clutched in your hand as you murmured in his ear, “a thousand times, yes.”

His arms encircled you, holding you close as he buried kisses among the locks of your hair, working his way toward your eager lips. The coldness of his nose against your cheek made you smile, the delicious heat of his mouth and the glow of your shared joy filled you with an unquenchable warmth, and the stars themselves seemed to give winks of approval to your love.

A sudden thought dampened your elation, and you pulled away to look at Kili anxiously.

“Will Thorin allow it?”

“Aye, he’s given us his blessing,” he nodded, grinning as he added, “even asked what took me so long. I think he’s grown fonder of you than he might care to admit.”

You relaxed into a relieved chuckle, running your fingers over the courting braid you had regularly plaited in his hair for these many months.

“When can we get married?“

“Not soon enough for me,” he sighed, drawing you in for another kiss, and you murmured blissfully against his lips.

“I’m going to be your wife.”

“You’re going to be my wife,” he repeated, a luminous smile blooming on his face, and he cradled your cheeks with his hands to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

“And I’m the happiest woman,” you promised.

“Let’s go back inside, amrâlimê,” he said, his eyes bright with happiness and his cheeks flushed with cold as he enveloped your chilled hands with his larger ones. “I need to warm my hands to make your new braid.”


End file.
